


serial

by tanyart



Series: tread lightly [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Winston and Tracer, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: They don't miss how things were, but sometimes habit gets the better of them.





	serial

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something very loosely inspired by the new Doomfist animated short, haha. And make a poor attempt to reconcile the timeline. Somehow. Blizz, please help us.

Genji goes flying across the Volskaya factory. There’s no arching trajectory to slow his fall or change his momentum. His pathway is simply a straight shot into the opposite wall, as if he’d been fired from a cyborg-loaded cannon with no particular target in mind.

McCree is treated to a front row seat of Genji crashing into the wall above him, just a mere forty feet upwards. Rather than catch Genji’s falling body, McCree decides to not compromise his position for the sake of breaking his back. In any case, Genji has proven himself be hardier than the average human. If Genji can survive a direct punch from a giant rogue mech then a drop from a wall should be cakewalk. Or cakefall.

Sure enough, Genji collapses in a smoking heap of broken circuits and armor next to McCree. Presumably still alive and a little bit pissed.

“Howdy,” says McCree, still huddled in his hiding spot behind a few crates. He can hear the rogue mech wreaking havoc in the distance, along with Tracer’s rapid fire bullets and Winston’s roaring. It seems the new Overwatch team of three is a work in progress.

Genji doesn’t move right away. The pile of armor heaves up and down.

“Need a hand?” McCree offers.

“Don’t touch me,” Genji snaps, pushing himself up on his elbows. His body twitches, green sparks shooting from his chestplate. He glances at McCree, seems to realize his sharp tone, and adds in a lighter voice, “It’s new armor. I don’t want you scuffing it.”

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it,” McCree says, “You’re doing a fine job on your own.”

Genji flicks a broken shard of armor at him. McCree thinks it might’ve been a piece of his leg. The shard falls short of embedding itself into McCree’s boot, though he knows full well that Genji is more than capable of not missing. Instead, the piece bounces harmlessly over the ground, skidding away under the crates.

“Very funny,” Genji says, hopping back up on his feet. He looks only halfway terrible, which isn’t all that bad, considering. His fingers flex at his sides, testing the grip. More green electricity flickers over his arms, causing him to shudder before he straightens. He doesn’t look at McCree, but he says wryly, “I almost miss Blackwatch.”

New armor, new image. Fit for frontline material and media news headlines to tote Overwatch’s good name. Angela’s got Genji all dolled up for the more enterprising journalists. McCree snickers, not in the least envious. He does just fine working from the shadows.

“Aw, that’s real sweet of you to say. Late-night sneaky missions aren’t the same without you.”

Genji’s head turns. The green visor glows bright. It’s not Genji’s usual unimpressed dead-eyed stare, but McCree can imagine the muted red gaze anyway. He finds himself surprised that he almost misses it.

“And what are _you_ doing here? Am I supposed to know you’re here?” Genji asks, which shows how much Overwatch has taken in to him. He is becoming less of a Blackwatch asset by the day, and McCree knows that it’s only a matter of time before Overwatch fully integrates him with the likes of Tracer and Winston.

McCree shrugs. “Recon. And being back-up, in case you three get into trouble. Speaking of, your diagnostics running alright?”

Genji makes a disatisfied noise, meaning his armor isn’t at optimal performance. But there’s little he can do about that without quitting the field—and that’s hardly a good enough reason for either him or McCree. Another run of electricity crawls over his body, a little less wild this time. “It will have to do.”

He pauses, metal joints creaking. McCree keeps an eye on the battle ahead of them. Genji isn’t chitchatting for nothing; McCree has gotten familiar with his tics and tells. Genji is still catching his breath, still testing the limits of his new armor, and McCree just knows Genji is going to push it.

“There is a ledge, two flights up. It will give you a better vantage point than here,” Genji eventually says, as if reminding McCree he knows him just as well.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to do something stupid,” McCree replies, already resigned. He spares Genji a sidelong glance. “Were you looking for me?”

“I was recently thrown across the field. I had a good view of everything,” Genji says, dry. He rolls his shoulders back, cybernetic parts whirling to fix themselves. “I was Blackwatch too. I know how it works. If not you, there would have been another agent watching.”

McCree makes a noncommittal noise. Genji gives him another long look.

“Alright, alright,” he says, easing up. “I’ll change my position.”

“It was only a suggestion,” Genji replies.

He starts running towards the mech, drawing his sword.

McCree gets moving.

 

* * *

 

There’s a severed robot arm in McCree’s old hiding spot. It’s the size of a truck and McCree wonders why Volskaya feels the need to build bigger robots only to have them hacked all over again. He crouches on his heels, several feet up in the air on a platform, revolver still smoking in his hand. He reloads just in case, but he doubts he’ll be firing his gun any time soon.

Genji’s on the ground again, and he’s not getting up this time around. McCree watches as both Tracer and Winston berate him, words too distant to hear clearly, but there’s no mistaking Tracer’s nervous flitting around and Winston’s concerned rumbling tone.

Genji’s head turns to either of them, depending on which person is giving him the earful. They’re taking turns, it seems. His shoulders shrug. Curiosity gets the better of McCree; he tunes in to the voice channel, left suspiciously open from Genji’s end.

“I _did_ have a plan,” Genji is saying to Winston.

“Running into the thick of it with half your body falling to bits isn’t much of a plan,” Tracer says.

“I’m not saying it was a _good_ plan,” Genji says stubbornly. “But it worked, did it not?”

His head shifts, tipping upwards. For a moment, McCree sees the visor flash green, light seemingly to point right at him. Genji’s hand turns, palm up. McCree pauses, corner of his mouth twitching in a crooked smile. He touches the brim of his hat in acknowledgment.

Genji shrugs again. Winston moves over him, pulling pieces of Genji’s armor back together.

The line cuts.

McCree stands back up, mission completed.


End file.
